


Lean on Me

by FearNoEvil



Series: Joly Week [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Crime, Friendship, Gen, Joly Week 2021, mobility issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearNoEvil/pseuds/FearNoEvil
Summary: After Joly has been mugged and had his cane stolen, Courfeyrac comes to his aid. The Friends discuss generosity and crime.
Relationships: Courfeyrac & Joly (Les Misérables), Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship
Series: Joly Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136216
Comments: 16
Kudos: 21





	Lean on Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Cane" for Day 1 of Joly Week! Could also apply to the prompt "Fashion" from later in the week!
> 
> Welcome to Joly Week! I'm very excited and nervous to be here to show my love for my darling Jolllly! :D
> 
> I have endeavored to include a lot of different friendship dynamics throughout the week, so this is Courfeyrac's main co-starring role! I have also endeavored to make Joly the "hero" (rather than the "victim") in fics where such roles are applicable throughout the week, though sometimes (as in this one) he does a bit of both. My general headcanon for Joly is that he has one "bad knee" that acts up periodically - seemingly at random - with pain/weakness, so his cane is often just a fashion accessory but also sometimes necessary for mobility. Also sorry the title's not very creative. :/
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Mud-spattered, bent nearly double, and shaking in every limb, Joly ran his hand along the cold stone wall until his chilled fingers felt the slight indentation of the windowsill, which he used as support to haul himself forward. Though both legs shook, the one could take his slight weight, while the other refused. He therefore slid his hand further along the windowsill and, with its support, moved another laborious step.

He hadn’t been paying attention to what building he was even clinging to – he had often noted in his patients (and had some personal experience) how physical distress could rob a man of nearly all his powers of observation – but these details were about to announce themselves rather pointedly.

“Come, move along, clear out of here, young tramp! No beggars here! You’re blocking the display!” barked a harsh voice as a door swung open in front of him and an irritated middle-aged gentleman brandishing a sharp pair of scissors emerged.

Joly stumbled back into the street in alarm, hauling himself hastily backward on his hands before he could assure himself that the man didn’t mean to _attack_ him with the scissors; they were merely the tools of his trade. He was a barber.

“Are you drunk or what?” the barber persisted. “Move along! You’re scaring away all the respectable customers!” A small spark of indignation now bubbled up through Joly’s unease – more for the beggars and drunkards and ‘undesirables’ he was being mistaken for than for his own sake. He pressed his downcast eyes shut with the effort of trying to raise himself up again, but before he could muster his strength or his voice or his indignation, he heard the door swing open as another man emerged from the shop.

“Oh, _really_!” said voice of the newcomer – a wonderfully _familiar_ voice that immediately made Joly feel warmer and breathe easier. “Monsieur, the pavements belong to everyone! And if _that_ is how you treat your fellow-man, I’m afraid I must reconsider patronizing your estab –” the voiced stopped, and gasped. “ _Joly_?”

“Courfeyrac!” Joly exclaimed, his voice embarrassingly ragged.

Courfeyrac immediately darted forward to pull Joly the rest of the way to his feet, looking him up and down with an expression of horrified alarm. Joly had to wonder just how bad he looked. He knew he had a bloody gash on one cheek and that he was muddy and dressed in little more than shirtsleeves – his money, watch, jacket, hat, cravat, cane, scarf and waistcoat had all been taken. “Good _Lord_ , Joly, what happened to you?”

“I was –” Joly began, and then suddenly his legs gave way beneath him; the adrenaline upholding him had abruptly departed – because now, he knew he was safe.

He kneeled and took a deep breath as everything blurred a little before his eyes. Courfeyrac crouched down beside him, and wrapped an arm around him.

The barber was trying to salvage the situation. “ _Dear_ Monsieur Courfeyrac, I meant no harm, of course! Come, come, let’s put this behind us, I’ll get to you next, you can cut to the head of the line, you can have your next trim for nothing, I’ll –”

“No _harm_!” exclaimed Courfeyrac, glaring up at him as he sat rubbing Joly’s shoulder. “Couldn’t you see this man’s just been _robbed_?”

“My good Monsieur Courfeyrac – Monsieur de Courfeyrac –”

“ _de_ Courfeyrac! That’s the last straw! Monsieur, don’t _bother_ with me anymore! Perfect hair must be sacrificed for principles! So you’d best just go back inside and see to the customers you’ve still got!”

The barber, after a moment’s hesitation, decided to cut his losses, and wordlessly retreated indoors. Courfeyrac’s furious glare instantly dissolved as he turned back toward Joly. “Can you stand?” he asked softly.

“I – I _should_ – I –” Joly stammered as he attempted without success to rise on his bad leg, “I’m sorry, I – I wasn’t _really_ hurt, I’m only a little – sh-shaken –” 

“Well, no _wonder_!” Courfeyrac cried emphatically, and next thing Joly knew, he was being pulled upward into Courfeyrac’s arms, his nose pressed roughly into the shoulder of the latter’s bright, magnificent waistcoat. 

Joly breathed deeply, squeezing his eyes shut, and tightened his grip. “I think people are staring,” he murmured, with a slight grin, after he opened his eyes.

“Let them stare! Two handsome fellows, hugging in the street, it’s no wonder! It’s a _glorious_ sight! And besides,” Courfeyrac added, inclining his head toward the barber’s shop, “maybe it’ll lose this _barbarous_ bourgeois a few more customers!”

Joly giggled into Courfeyrac’s shoulder, and they broke apart. Courfeyrac quickly removed his own jacket and wrapped it around Joly in an effort to make him feel a little more fully-dressed. He then took off his own cravat and began using it to wipe at whatever mud or blood was caked on Joly’s face. He didn’t say a word as he worked, and Joly realized with a jolt of panic that it was because he didn’t want to frighten Joly by calling attention to the mud spattered over the gash on his cheek, which might invade his bloodstream and _infect_ the wound!

But before he could think any more about it, Courfeyrac pocketed the cravat, smiled warmly, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Come! Shall we try to make it to the Musain? You need a drink, and Combeferre will want to inspect you! No harm in arriving a little early tonight!”

Joly swallowed, nodded silently, and, still balancing on Courfeyrac’s arm, they tested Joly’s weight on one leg and then another. It was no good. The one knee always shook and crumpled. 

“Sorry, my cane, he –” Joly began, but Courfeyrac held up his hand.

“That’s alright, my dear fellow; you can lean on me for now,” Courfeyrac said kindly, and they shifted into a more movable position. And, supporting Joly on one side, they began their slow, ungainly journey toward the Café Musain.

“So, tell me, Joly,” panted Courfeyrac in a forcibly casual tone after they’d walked in silence for a few moments, “who did this to you?”

Joly took another breath as he thought back that horrible moment. “Some – ruffian in the alley,” he panted, trying to shrug. “He was young – I think younger than me, and – rather well-dressed? I quite liked his waistcoat, actually –”

“You liked your _assailant’s_ wai—” Courfeyrac began, smiling incredulously, but his expression suddenly changed. “Oh, good _Lord_ ,” he breathed, “I know who that was! Didn’t I warn you about – no, no, I warned _Marius_ , maybe I forgot . . .”

“Well, it wasn’t – it wasn’t him at first,” Joly recalled. “There was young girl – a poor, ragged little thing – and she was _crying_ , saying her mother was ill, and she needed money for medicine – so I told I was almost a doctor and followed her into the alley, and – that’s when this other fellow jumped me!” He gave another shudder. “He had a _knife_ , and he – slashed my cheek, just to show me he meant business, I suppose, so I – I thought it safer to just hand things over, then!”

“Evidently, he liked _your_ waistcoat, too!” Courfeyrac murmured humorlessly, giving Joly a sympathetic frown. “And he got your hat and cane and all, you poor fellow!”

“He – he took my scarf,” Joly confessed sadly, “the one Musichetta knitted! I tried to protest, but it only got me knocked down and kicked in the ribs, and then he tore it off me.” His voice wavered as he said, “It was the first gift she ever gave me, Courfeyrac . . .”

Courfeyrac squeezed his shoulder a little tighter, and added, with exaggerated outrage, “And _then_ you had that _brute_ of a wigmaker shouting and waving _scissors_ at you! God, I can’t _believe_ I gave that man my business for so long!”

“Well, he must’ve been a _good_ barber,” Joly laughed tolerantly. “Your hair always looked very nice!”

“Very _nice_ , indeed!” Courfeyrac barreled on indignantly, pleased by Joly’s returning smiles. “I’d rather have _no_ hair than give that man another sou! I almost envy our dear Eagle now! But no, I shall make a point to walk past his shop after I’ve found another who shall render my hair even _more_ magnificent, and thus your wrongs shall be avenged, my dear Joly!”

Joly laughed, and tried to protest that the barber probably wasn’t _that_ bad, but Courfeyrac, in his melodramatic element, assumed the air of a pitiless district prosecutor, and wouldn’t hear a word in his defense. This lighthearted debate carried them the rest of their slow, inelegant way to back room of the Café Musain.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” Courfeyrac called cheerfully as he opened the door and, still holding up Joly on the one side, squeezed himself through first, as four heads turned to observe the newcomers. Enjolras and Combeferre were sitting in one corner talking in a low tone, while Grantaire and Bahorel played dominoes in another.

“Courfeyrac!” said Bahorel heartily, “hatless and cravatless! What happened there? Were you robbed or something?”

“Oh, no, not _me_! Joly!” said Courfeyrac hastily, as he pulled Joly through the door into view. “But good Lord!” he added, experimentally reaching for the curly top of his head, which was indeed hatless. “Did I leave my hat at the barber’s?”

Everyone leapt into action at the sight of Joly; Bahorel seized him and dragged him down in a seat by the wall, Grantaire hastened to pour him a glass of wine, and Combeferre started to ease him out of Courfeyrac’s jacket. Enjolras approached behind the others, but only looked on in grave concern. Then everyone was questioning him at once, on who did this to him, where he was hurt, and how much wine he needed now. His glass was full and the coat was off and returned to Courfeyrac before Enjolras got a word in edgewise.

“But – you’re all right now, Joly?” he asked simply.

Joly smiled at him as he lifted his glass. “Oh yes,” he said, “Courfeyrac was my knight! He took _excellent_ care of me!”

“Oh, you flatter me!” said Courfeyrac, patting his shoulder heartily. “I’d tip my hat in thanks, if it weren’t now in the hands of the enemy! On that score, I’d better go and rescue it – no rest for this brave cavalier! – but I leave you in good hands!” He gave an exaggerated salute as he opened the door, and then he was gone.

The others made Joly repeat his story, and Combeferre made him take off his shirt so that he could examine where he’d been kicked in the ribs, and feel more precisely for any fractures. It was a little awkward, but he supposed he was among men – and among his dearest friends at that – yet he dearly hoped Louison would not choose that moment to come in.

“Well,” sighed Combeferre, as he removed his cold hands from Joly’s bruised chest, “no fractures; just bruising there. You’re lucky – seems your fashionable attacker left you mostly in one piece. Although – you were leaning on Courfeyrac a little. Did he hurt to your leg?”

“He might have kicked them a little, just so I wouldn’t get up right away,” Joly recalled, “but – well, my bad knee’s unreliable at the best of times. After I’d calmed down a bit, I’d’ve been fine walking, if he hadn’t also stolen my cane!” 

“Well, let me have a _word_ with this fellow,” put in Bahorel, cracking his knuckles, “and I’m sure I could get it back for you!”

“No, no, don’t worry about that!” implored Joly, gazing at the blood-red of Bahorel’s waistcoat as the shining edge of the knife flashed through his mind, and seizing hold of his hand. “I can get a new cane!”

“Why waste your money?” Bahorel persisted. “I could take him!”

“Oh, I’m sure you could snap him in half, Bahorel, but – but _please_ , not on my account! After the day I’ve had, _please_ save me the headache of cleaning out your knife wounds just for this _once_ , my dear fellow!”

Bahorel frowned, but he laid a hand on Joly’s shoulder and sat down again, contenting himself with a small sort of growl.

“Besides,” added Joly brightly, “He probably needed that money more than me! And that poor girl, too! Maybe with my things and money they won’t have to rob people! My cane _was_ a little extravagant, anyway; it had a silver tip! Maybe he’ll _use_ that silver – to become an honest man!”

Grantaire snorted. “Your optimism is _touching_ , Joly! More likely he’ll spend it all on wine and who—”

“Yes, _thank_ you, Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted, “for once more _sneering_ at a generous sentiment!”

Grantaire looked slightly abashed. “I’m only saying,” he muttered, looking at Joly half-fondly and half-pityingly, “that girl certainly knew how to pick a target!”

Combeferre sighed. “If she couldn’t read your kind heart in your face,” he told Joly, “she could certainly see from your clothes, your cane and your build that you must be a man of some means, and – well, maybe not the most fearsome fighter.” He handed Joly his shirt back. “Well, my dear fellow, I trust you’ll be more cautious in following people down dark alleys in the future!”

Joly looked pensive. He pulled his shirt back over his head before softly replying, “I don’t – know as I will, actually . . .”

Combeferre only tilted his head, as if to consider this, but Grantaire looked dismayed. “You didn’t learn your lesson today?” he asked incredulously. “After you were beaten and robbed at knifepoint?”

“What _lesson_ , my dear fellow?” Joly returned stubbornly. “I was only trying to help that poor girl! She said her mother was ill – was I to do _nothing_?”

“But she was lying! She was just banking on a skinny fellow with a cane being an easy target for her associate to deal with!”

Joly crossed his arms, recalling the girl’s tears and her almost apologetic expression as she gazed at him lying in the mud before hurrying away. “She _might_ have been lying,” he admitted, “but how was I to know? I don’t know even now! But the girl wasn’t a bad sort, she was just _desperate_! She was probably forced into it – either by her associates, or just by her circumstances!”

“ _Joly_ ,” sighed Grantaire, in an infuriatingly longsuffering tone, like an older brother who knew everything, that made Joly feel about five years old, “Because of her, you were nearly _stabbed_! You _can’t_ tell me you weren’t scared!” 

“What does that _matter_?” snapped Joly, cursing himself as he began to tremble again. “Of _course_ I was scared! I was scared out of my _wits_! But I’m scared all the _time_ , and if I let that constrain me, I’d be no use to anyone! I followed her on _principle_ – to meet a need, to lessen a hurt! My _maybe_ losing a little money to no purpose is better than _not_ helping someone in desperate need! I’d rather be a generous fool than a wise miser! So – no, however scared I was, I’m _not_ sorry I followed her into the alley! And I’d do it again!”

“You’ve done well, Joly,” said Enjolras suddenly, setting a hand on Joly’s trembling shoulder. “I am only sorry that in this world as it is, such generosity is so often met with scorn or exploitation! My friends, Joly shows us in microcosm what we seek to do for all the world; let us all take this example to live by – that come what may of loss and danger, of risk or sacrifice, we must try everywhere we can to live by the code of the ideal – in the hope to bring it to pass!”

Joly gave a surprised smile as he looked up at him; Enjolras’s returning smile was _radiant_. If any lingering fear or regret – of knives, of kicks and blows, of contaminated wounds, of stolen scarves – had been close to making him falter, his will was now steeled. Enjolras’s words were like the benediction of God.

“To generous fools!” said Bahorel, holding up his glass in a toast, which all the others, excepting Grantaire, joined in.

“Yes, generous _fools_ ,” he mumbled, turning back to his own drink. “ _All_ my friends are generous fools! How well you’ve taught them, Enjolras! If you won’t be shot for treason, you’ll be stabbed in an alleyway, and surely _that’ll_ change the world for the better!” And he held up his cup in a mocking toast and gulped it down.

“Come, that’s not the way to take it, my dear fellow,” said Bahorel, clapping his shoulder. “Why, if Joly won’t stay out of trouble like _you_ want, and he won’t let us fight _for_ him – then you and I shall just have to _teach_ him to defend himself!”

“Well, frankly,” said Joly, gazing ruefully down at his bad knee and his own slight frame, “I think _most_ opponents would find me at some disadvantage . . .”

“Come, where’s that optimism?” Bahorel demanded, turning back to Joly. “Have a little faith! Grantaire’s boxing skills are unmatched, and you know very well what _I_ can do! _Anyone_ can learn the art of combat, my dear Joly!”

“Though perhaps it would be wiser and simpler to just start carrying a pistol,” suggested Combeferre. Everyone turned and stared at the peaceful philosopher. “Unloaded, and out of sight, of course,” he shrugged. “Just for intimidation . . .”

They were all still blinking a processing this when the sound of Courfeyrac’s voice interrupted their reverie.

“Jolllly!” he called in a sing-song voice that carried and echoed down the long hall and through the door before he opened it, “look what _I_ found in the alleyway!”

Joly looked up hopefully – was it the scarf? Had his dandyish attacker ultimately decided it wasn’t his style, and left it behind? But what Courfeyrac – with his hat jauntily restored – pulled through the door after him was not a colorful scarf.

It was Bossuet. Joly couldn’t really be disappointed. 

Bossuet crossed the room in about three strides and pulled Joly into his arms. “Courfeyrac _assured_ me he gave you an adequate hug,” he said, “but I’m afraid he failed to present me with adequate evidence!”

“Yes, it’s always better to err on the side of caution in such cases,” giggled Joly, burying his face in his friend’s shoulder.

“But that’s not all!” said Courfeyrac, with a grin a mile wide. “Observe now – what _he_ found in the alleyway!”

And to Joly’s amazement, as they broke apart, Bossuet reached into his threadbare jacket, and pulled out – was it? yes! The scarf! His first gift from Musichetta!

“Was it – just lying there?”

Bossuet shook his head, also grinning from ear to ear at Joly’s look of euphoria. He told Joly how he’d seen a young girl wearing it, and had asked her where she got it, since his friend had one just like it. The girl had looked very embarrassed, and asked if the ‘kind doctor’ was his friend, and when he’d replied in affirmative, she had hastily taken it off her own neck, and thrust it into his hands. “Then she said to tell you she was sorry, and dashed away,” Bossuet concluded.

“The same girl, no doubt,” smiled Courfeyrac, as Bossuet wrapped the scarf around Joly’s neck. “Your fashionable attacker must have pawned it off on his little assistant, and if she noticed that you seemed attached to it, and felt bad –”

“She was a _noble_ girl!” beamed Joly, feeling very warm indeed with Bossuet once more at his side and the scarf securely around his neck again. And the scarf – his first proof of Musichetta’s love – was now a proof or something else as well. For as if to confirm Joly’s convictions, this desperate, ragged girl, who had no reason at all to worry herself about the likes of him, had shown her quality at the last. Maybe that really was the benediction of God.

* * *

The next day, Courfeyrac lent Joly one of his old canes and dragged him out to an ancient pawnbroker recommended by Jehan – who had evidently been attracted by all the suits or armor for sale – to find him a dashing new one.

There were dozens of options, some with silver tips, some with bronze, some with gold, some with animal head designs, in a variety of weights and lengths. Joly was just examining a couple of lovely bird-headed ones – one with an eagle and one with a duck – when a loud exclamation from Courfeyrac nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“My _God_!” he exclaimed. “This one has a _sword_ inside!” And he swung the sword playfully in Joly’s general direction. “ _En garde!”_

Joly instinctively jumped back, and knocked straight into an antique porcelain chess set. It went plummeting and crashing down, breaking several pawns, a black king, and a white bishop.

This instantly summoned an angry shop assistant, who seemed more inclined to blame the incident on Courfeyrac’s exuberance than on Joly’s nerves. Thus, to escape her penetrating glares, Courfeyrac agreed quickly that they should buy the remaining pieces of the chess set as well as the sword cane and _both_ of the ones Joly had been examining (“Variety adds spice, my dear fellow!”) right then and there, to get out of the shop as fast as humanly possible.

“A barber shop and a pawnbroker in two days!” Courfeyrac laughed as the door swung shut behind them. “I won’t be able to go anywhere by the end of the week!”

“Sorry about that,” Joly muttered, carrying the board under his arm and the stuffing the intact pieces into his pockets, “but I _suppose_ you remember I have nerves like cat’s meat even when I _haven’t_ been recently threatened with a knife?”

“No matter, it was _worth_ it!” grinned Courfeyrac, swinging the sword through the air freely now. “And the chess pieces are just little figurines now! Jehan will adore the little unbroken ones! Perhaps Feuilly or Grantaire would like to paint them! Why, we can give one to _everyone_!”

“Then,” said Joly, reaching into his pocket to take one of them out, “I suppose _you’ll_ be wanting the knight!”

“Ah, you know me too well, Joly,” said Courfeyrac with a cat-grin, accepting the little porcelain chess piece and trading Joly the two bird-headed canes for it. “And I think the bishop suits you!” Then, stuffing the little knight in his pocket then, he sheathed the sword cane, then swung it jauntily in one hand and threw the other arm around Joly’s shoulders.

“But tell me,” he began, “if we give Enjolras the king – will he absolutely _hate_ it, or will he _really_ enjoy symbolically toppling it? Come – place your bets now, my dear fellow!”

And, still arm in arm, but with much less trembling and stumbling than the day before, the two of them made their rambling way once again toward the Café Musain.

**Author's Note:**

> Oooh I wonder WHO that well-dressed young criminal was?? Such a MYSTERY! XD (Because there are no coincidences in Les Mis; the young girl was also meant to be Azelma. And the evil part of me now really *wants* to see Montparnasse and Bahorel fight!) Honestly, beyond the implication that he mugged Joly, Idk what to do with Montparnasse, but I'd dearly love to write more about Azelma someday!
> 
> Also it would appear I couldn't help presenting some Thoughts on "cautious" charity and free public places/gentrification! I hope Victor Hugo will be proud of me. I'm adopting "The pavements belong to everyone!" as my anti-hostile-architecture slogan! You break that barber's window, Gavroche!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one! Hope these possibly-odd takes on the characters worked for you! Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! :)


End file.
